


The 7.39

by SirKris



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Drama, F/M, Hate to Love, I'll think of more tropes to put on here as I go, Romance, if i flatter myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirKris/pseuds/SirKris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Molly meet on a commute to London when he rudely takes the last seat she had meant to occupy. Their independent choice to take the 7.39 every morning has them meeting on a frequent basis, and they come to tolerate each other. They're at different stages in their lives. He's trying to recover his own sense of normalcy after suffering a drug relapse and she's looking forward to a new route in her career and budding life with Tom, her fiancé.</p><p>What starts out as friendship of sorts rapidly develops into something more when they find themselves incorporating each other into their lives in more ways than would be deemed appropriate, for either of them.</p><p>Inspired by 'The 7.39' tv film</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The 7.39

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Here I go again, writing another WIP (shame on me, I know). If you've watched the film you'll quickly realise that my story's not really going to match for reasons (I didn't have the heart or imagination to make Sherlock happily married to some random person).

The horrid blare of the alarm broke through Molly's wonderful dream. She had been just about to give her acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize in Medicine when the obnoxious lyrics of Heat of the Moment suddenly spurted out of her mouth. With a frustrated groan, she slapped the snooze button before burrowing further into her pillow. If she tried hard enough, perhaps she could recreate the dream. A warm hand slid around her and it took a few moments for it to register that a kiss was being delivered onto her neck.

"'Morning," the voice murmured into her hair.

Molly hummed in response, her eyes still stubbornly shut. She'll be damned if she can't at least get a photo with the Prize. It only felt like a moment, but the blasted song blared once more, indicating that half an hour had in fact passed by. Finally fed up she sat up bolt right and was prepared to give the machine a deadly glare when she took note of the time.

6:54 am.

"Oh my God."

She nearly delivered a smack on to her fiancé in her desperate effort to untangle the sheets from herself.

"It's almost seven. God, Tom why did you let me snooze?"

She didn't wait for a response for she had already slammed the bathroom door and was frantically trying to brush her teeth and scrub her face at the same time. Not effective, she knew but she was all panic at the moment.

"Molly, calm down."

Tom's muffled voice carried through the door. He sounded near. For a split moment, molly felt guilty for waking him up, but that was soon forgotten when she remembered why she was panicking in the first place. Today was her interview at St Bartholomew's Hospital to finalize her MD project proposal. She was almost certain it was a sure thing, but she couldn't get help but get agitated. If she botched this now, she would have wasted months of preparation and set herself at least a year back on her track to get a consultant post. So no, she will bloody well not calm down. She hadn't even heard the bathroom door open when Tom's hands landed softly on her shoulders.

"Calm down," he soothed. "There's no rush."

Molly glared at her him through the mirror, although she probably didn't look very intimidating, what with a toothbrush comically sticking out of her mouth.

"Your train doesn't even leave 'till 7:39 remember? You have plenty of time."

Easy for you to say. You're not the one about to face a critical career crossing. At least that was what she had meant to say; what really came out was a string of muffled noises.

"You've been ready for week and we both know you've got this." When that didn't seem to convince her, he went on. "I swear I've heard you rehearse this enough times for me to take the interview for you. Would you like me to?"

He nudged her playfully as he asked, and Molly couldn't help smiling back at him.

"There we go," he grinned triumphantly as he bent down to give her cheek a kiss. "Now I'm going to go and get the coffee started. You are calmly going to get ready, meet me downstairs to enjoy some jabs over what will probably be my burnt toast, then have me escort your loveliness to the train station. Okay?"

"Okay," Molly mumbled, still trying to sound put out. She was still nervous, but not as wrecked as she had been moments before. She could always count on Tom to cheer her up.

"Sherlock."

He made no move to acknowledge his name, utterly determine to remain in his bed for the rest of the day, week if need be.

"I'm glad that you've remembered how to sleep, I don't think it would be a good idea to sleep through today."

God, he was insistent, Sherlock thought as he pulled the sheets to cover his face. But he knew if he ignored John long enough, would finally leave him alone.

"Sherlock I know you can hear me."

"Okay that's it."

When he heard his receding steps, Sherlock was sure he had won. Smirking, he shifted to face the other side of the bed and was in the process of mentally preparing his next dream when a bucket of ice-cold water was dumped over his head. Sherlock all but forgot to breathe as he spluttered.

"JOHN WHAT THE HELL!"

"Good morning to you too."

John calmly put the bucket down as he watched Sherlock tried to compose himself. Assured that his flat mate wasn't going to die from acute hypothermia, he then walked off to the kitchen pour himself a cup of coffee. Having finally pulled the wet sheets away from himself, Sherlock stomped off to the bathroom for a very hot shower.

Warm, dressed, and properly pissed, Sherlock then stormed into the kitchen to glare at a John who was now calmly reading the newspaper.

"Finally up then?" he asked, eyes still focused on the headlines.

"That was cruel and completely unnecessary."

"Worked though didn't it?"

Sherlock retaliated by noisily clamouring for a mug in the cabinet.

"I'm not going," Sherlock said as poured the black substance into his mug. John was not known for making a good cup and if he could go by the colour it would seem that he may have been trying to brew poison. Challenge accepted, he thought as he took the mug with him and to sit at the small dining table with John.

"Mycroft made it clear that if you don't meet him then he won't let you get back to your consulting work and don't say he won't as he's done a good job blacklisting you from getting cases so far."

When it was clear that Sherlock was going to going to be stubborn about the matter, John finally abandoned the newspaper.

"What, do you want me to take you at gun point?"

"I'd like to see you try."

The vicious look Sherlock received for his retort had him dipping down for an rather large sip of the tar-like coffee. Okay, maybe that hadn't been an empty threat.

"It's either that or you go back to rehab."

Sherlock nearly choked on his gulp. "But I'm clean!"

"Then explain to me why you're not doing everything in your power not to get back to your work."

John was right; he knew that. His most recent relapse had been a great deal more difficult to recover, and it was mainly thanks to John's support that it had only taken him 4 months to recover from it. Although he would never admit it Sherlock marvelled at how he had tolerated him. His relapse had properly burned every other bridge he had managed to build before then. He was almost certain he had disappointed DI Lestrade one too many times to hope to salvage that friendship. In one of those incredibly rare moments where it would seem that John could read him, he said, "Lestrade said to stop by the Yard later on today."

John's knowing smile indicated that he had seen the fleeting look of hope that passed his features, but he would be damned if he couldn't feign indifference.

"The train leaves at 7:39," John said before picking up the paper once more. "Don't be late."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will upload the next chapter in an hr or so. How is it so far?


	2. First Impressions

"I've got a late shift tonight so I'm apologising in advance for not being home to congratulate you alright?"

Tom and Molly were walking rather briskly down the street to the station. Getting dressed had taken much longer than anticipated and she was moving against the clock to try catch the train.

"Got it," she huffed as she tried to half sprint. Tom, who had impossibly long legs (damn him) looked like he was barely making an effort to match her speed. She silently cursed when she almost tripped over her pinchy shoes.

"I'm gonna have to fight for a seat," she groaned after taking a look at her watch.

"Well you know your human anatomy. Kick them where it matters" Tom winked. She giggled when he stopped to pull her in for a quick kiss.

"Love you," he murmured.

"Me too," she said softly before recovering herself. She was going to be late. "Bye," she ran towards the ticket gate.

It was much to her surprise when she found herself at the front row of people waiting on the platform. The train slowed down to a halt, and Molly shifted her purse and bulky coat in her arms to brace herself for the rude shoves the moment its doors opened up.

* * *

Sherlock despised people infringing on his personal space, but there was little he could do in the situation as he waited for the train to arrive. He stood impatiently on the on the platform, willing himself to ignore how close everyone around him was, particularly the short brown-haired woman directly in front of him. Although that was hardly her fault, he admitted to himself for he could only blame the row of people behind him for forcing him to stand so close. Soon enough the train arrived, and he wasted no time shuffling into the train.

One quick at the compartment indicated there was only one available seat and he wasted no time making his way towards it. The brown-haired woman from before appeared to be unloading her coat above the seat but he chose not to take notice and smoothly sat there. He then wasted no time responding to John's nagging text messages. Honestly, how did the man even think he couldn't handle catching a train?

"Um, excuse me," a soft voice from above him spoke. "I meant to sit there."

Sherlock chanced a glance at the woman before returning his attention to the screen.

"Excuse me-"

"I heard," he cut out.

"Then would you be so kind, as to let me sit there? I really do need-"

"I'm sorry, did you reserve this seat?"

"No but I saw it first—"

"I was under the impression we function under a first-come-first serve system."

"Yes but—"

"Then I don't think I should endure further harassment from a woman who doesn't have the right mind to break into her new heels in preparation for a near 2 hour commute."

Sherlock knew his irritation was misplaced but did nothing to deter him from enjoying the shocked silence that followed their rapid exchange. He thought to point out her apparent need to read over for an apparent interview she seemed to be on edge about but thought better of it. People were unpredictably moody on Mondays, and there was no need to further provoke her, lest she decide to slap him.

"Of all the fucking—" she hissed.

Her language surprised him, for he had pegged her as the mild spoken, perhaps even mousy type of woman. Now intrigued, he looked up and suddenly made intense contact with the most livid pair of lovely brown eyes he had ever seen. Hang on, what? He mentally balked at his own observation. The woman in question physically blinked, in what he assumed had been surprise from their sudden eye contact but it did nothing to deter the furious edge her glare had on him. If he were a lesser man, he would have recoiled back. But he was not, and so he glared back with equal intensity.

* * *

Molly couldn't believe the nerve of the man that was glowering at her as if he had a reason to be offended in the situation. A vicious second passed where she had more than an urge to slap, then she thought better of it. There was no way she was going to lose her wits over a rude stranger. Not today.

"Fine. Keep it." she bit out, resigned to standing by the doors for the rest of the train ride. Before she could recover her coat from the rack, the man opposite from the insufferable stranger addressed her.

"Ma'am, you can have my seat. I'm getting off at the next stop any way."

"Oh really?" she smiled, relief washing over her. "Thank you."

The considerate man immediately got up from his seat and proceeded to walk back towards the doors. "Thank you," she repeated to the retreating man, "you're very kind." She said the last word, perhaps too loudly, and not without staring daggers at the prat before her. The man only threw her a sardonic smile before busying himself with his mobile..

Determined not to let it bother her, Molly pulled out a folder from her bag and commenced to read over her talking points. The train rattled softly on its course, and Molly found her eyes straying distractedly towards the window. It wasn't like the words before her were not engrained into her mind already. She was tempted to appraise the man opposite her, but thought better of it. There was no need to be put off any further than she already was; and so she put away her notes and grabbed a book from her bag to try some light reading for the rest of the journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on top of my game with this story so the next few chapters will be coming in weekly like clockwork ^_^


	3. Traveling, Deductions

After reassuring John that he had in fact boarded the 7.39 and was on his way to London, Sherlock found himself at a loss on what to do with the rest of the time. He hadn’t taken a case in months and wasn’t in the mood to organise his Mind Palace so he decided on the next best thing; take a nap. Well that was easily said than done when he found that he couldn’t fall asleep. Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh and allowed his eyes to crack open.

She was reading a book now. It wasn’t that he was particularly interested in her; she just so happened to be the easiest person to deduce from his position. She appeared to have given up preparing for her interview, but the reason was not so clear. He began to assess her from head to toe. What had formerly been a tight bun had tendrils of hair falling to her side; most likely from her rush to catch the train on time. She didn’t seem to favour makeup, but had applied some blush and eyeliner for her occasion; not that she needed it, she seemed pretty enough without it.

Charcoal grey skirt suit with an off white blouse. A conservative profession, but not finance from the colour scheme so it could then be, ah. He took a look at her hands. Medicine. She had faint scars of a person that often wielded a scalpel; a doctor then. But of what kind, he wasn’t able to tell at the moment. What he could tell was that she hadn’t been around patients, or perhaps even a hospital for a while, but he couldn’t gather why that would be. He would guess unexpected unemployment but he didn’t get that impression and Sherlock didn’t like to guess.

She turned a page of her book distracted him and he found himself examining her fingers once more. Oh, she was engaged. The glaringly obvious ring had somehow escaped his notice until then. How unusual for him to have missed that. It appeared to be an heirloom, not hers though. Recently fitted for her slim hands; so a considerate fiancé. He frowned to himself. Why was he annoyed about that? He had no time to mull over than wen the overhead hummed to life.

“This train is approaching its final stop. This is London, Waterloo.”

Newspapers were rustled shut, limbs were stretched out, and everyone around them was preparing to leave. The woman quickly shut her book and was already on her feet before Sherlock realised he was still staring. He needed not to be concerned, for she seemed to be determined not to even look at him on her way to grab her coat. He bit back an amused smile as he watched her tiptoe to reach it. She managed to get it eventually and wasted no time marching off towards the exit. He soon followed after, although there were a number of people separating them. It wasn’t like he wanted to speak to her again anyway. He wasn’t sure why, but he was somewhat content at knowing that she was still annoyed. Perhaps because it meant she was thinking of him.

 

* * *

  
The meeting with Mycroft proved to be as painful as he feared it would be. He had managed to ignore bulk of the lecture, having feigned a chastised look when he was actually reshuffling his sock index. The mention of their mother, however, had brought him back to the present.

“Mummy didn’t take kindly to you shooting up so much of your trust fund and so decided to leave it up to me to control your finances.”

He refused to flinch, but it was no secret that they hated to disappoint her. This time it was clearly Sherlock’s fault. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, Sherlock I’ll grant you enough of an allowance to support you at your current residence but leave it entirely up to you afford London on your own again.”

Sherlock balked at his words. “Are you subjecting me to commute from Hampshire?”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows in cool surprise. “The cost hardly puts a dent to your past London cab expenditures. And I would have expected less animosity as it did wonder for your recuperation.”

“But _Hampshire_.”

“Take it as penance for disappointing Mummy. Anyway, 2 hours isn’t terribly long. Just keep to your Mind Palace and don’t offend your fellow passengers. Heaven knows you’ll have to see them almost daily from now on.”

Something in his stance must have given something away for Mycroft smiled almost gleefully.

“Well you work fast. Let’s hope it wasn’t anyone who matters.”

Sherlock scoffed before he sat up from the obnoxiously plush seat. “If you’re done patronising me.”

Mycroft lazily waved him away, much to Sherlock’s irritation.

“I’ll leave you to your devices.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it wasn't too bad. Watcha think?
> 
> Until next week!
> 
> P.S. I have absolutely nothing against the county or anything. Sherlock's opinions are his own fictional opinions


	4. Congratulations

“So how’d it go?” Meena asked eagerly.

They were sitting at a Starbucks. Having already finished her interview, Meena made no hesitation to schedule a quick coffee break to hear the news.

Her excited disposition deflated at the look on Molly’s face.

“Okay, Molly don’t do this to me.”

Molly looked down sombrely at the latte before her before breaking into a dazzling smile.

“I got it!”

Meena squealed as she reached forward to hug her. “I knew it!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well I did until you threw me off with your theatrics. Have you told Tom yet?”

“Not yet,” she smiled warmly, remembering how confident he had been about her success. “I’ll call him later.”

Having told someone about her interview did nothing to dim the utter delight. Molly could still remember sweating bullets right before she had been received to the offices. She didn’t even remember having been that nervous for any of her previous interviews. Maybe it was because it had more to do with their unexpected request to review her proposal for a third time. Either way, Molly was glad they had approved. She really was looking forward to her research, and the different work experience it would bring. After all working in the morgue examining the dead was less strenuous than saving the dying.

The more she thought about this chapter in her career the more excited she was for her first day. There was absolutely nothing that could drag her down from her Cloud nine.

“The commute will be a pain though,” Meena said.

“Yeah well I’m the one who insisted on Barts and I can handle 2 hours.”

Suddenly her mind flashed to the tiff she had that morning and she groaned to herself.

“What? What is it?” Meena asked, puzzled by her reaction.

“Nothing. I just remembered some arrogant sod I met on the train this morning. Should have smacked him silly,” she said darkly as she recalled his sharp words.

“Oh that’s a fact of life. You’re going to meet them everywhere. I was thinking more of what are you going to do standing around for 2 hours almost every day?”

“Well its hardly going to kill me,” she stated, suddenly distracted by a detail from her distasteful encounter. It had been something he said regarding her shoes. Had she been limping? She wiggled her feet unconsciously, her mind now mulling over their exchange.

“Molly!”

“What?” she asked, startled that Meena had been talking without her notice.

“I asked when you start.”

“I said I could start tomorrow ” Molly said happily as she sat back further into her seat. The regular hours her position would give her. Meena shook her head as she watched her friend.

“I forgot how much of a workaholic you are.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, sharing schedules and planning out future lunch dates. Molly was glad to have at least one friend at Barts. She waved goodbye to Meena as she watched her cross the street. What remained of her latte was enjoyed as she watched people scuffle back to their work places. Lunch break was almost for most people, and the thought occurred to her that she should tell Tom the news. Her mobile buzzed to life, alerting that a text had arrived.

_Did you get it? –T_

She smiled at the coincidence.

_I thought you were confident I already did –M_

_Yeah, but I have to know for sure before I send you something –T_

That piqued her interest.

_Send me what? –M_

_I repeat. Did you get it? –T_

She waited a full minute before responding. Just to get him on hooks.

_Yes. –M_

Almost immediately she got an image text from him; a large one from the looks of the bytes. She tapped it to see him posing comically with a large manila card full of colourful scribbles, all with varying words and spelling of the same message.

_Congratulations Molly!_

Soon after Tom sent a text.

_The kids send their regards –T_

Molly broke into a smile as she read every message from them.

_I thought you should be treating them, not having them make cards for you. –MH_

_Naw, they wanted to. And it’s been ready for days -TW_

Molly chuckled as she read through the messages again. She had frequented the children’ hospital in the past few weeks to the point that the long-term patients had come to know her. She was a bit sad that she won’t be able to see them often from now on, but her hiatus was over.

 

* * *

 

John was pleased the next morning to find Sherlock already awake typing away on his laptop. He hadn’t said much after returning from London the previous day and John momentarily feared he might have not earned his privileges back. He as sure Mycroft would forgive him but Lestrade had been the odd factor. Having been the one to discover Sherlock high and overdosed in a drug den those months ago, it was understandable that Lestrade would be reluctant, if at all willing to welcome him back. Although he never spoke much about his life before assisting the Yard, when he had been a proper junkie. John knew that Lestrade had been an important person in helping Sherlock offer a less destructive means of distracting himself, and his decision to fall back to old habits must have damaged the trust he had put in him.

He hadn’t asked anything when Sherlock returned. John observed that he was unscathed, but he had not been sure if it was a good thing or not at the time. ‘Don’t bother with my share of take-out’ was all he had said, and John knew that Sherlock was well on his way to get his life back.

“Need my help today?” John asked as he poured a cup of coffee for himself.

“No. You’ll be more productive finishing up your applications. You seem to favour Barts, probably because of your history and known acquaintance—wait no—former classmate. But you should also consider Royal London.”

John was about to ask how he knew but thought better of it. He was not going to buffer his ego so early in the morning. Instead he prepared some toast for himself, and contemplated on the positions he had applied for so far. He had browsed on and off the past month, but hadn’t put much on an effort until yesterday, when it became clear that Sherlock was actually trying to get back on track. There wouldn’t be much of a reason to stay after he did. The place had provided a nice change in the pace of his life, but John was itching to get back to London, preferably with his best friend.

“Are you leaving the flat today?” John asked.

“I’m expected at the Yard in the a few hours.”

The surprised look on John’s face must have cued Sherlock to explain, though not without a displeased voice.

“Lestrade has some cold cases for me to peruse through. It’s one of the…conditions of my return.”

“Like desk duty?” he asked incredulously.

“For every case I take up with him, yes,” he bit out.

Personally, John thought it wasn’t a terrible condition. In fact it might lead on to more interesting cases he could write on his blog. Their flow of independent case requests had since dwindled after his recent relapse. His thoughts on the matter were distracted when Sherlock got up to prepare to leave. It then occurred to John that the arrangement would require him to take the train on a regular basis. Imagine that, Sherlock commute to what normally is a nine-to-five job, like an ordinary person. Good lord, did that mean he would need to get a season ticket? He couldn’t help but snigger at the notion.

Sherlock turned around to glare at him. “I don’t intend to turn this into a lifestyle, you know. I’ll be back in London permanently within a month.”

John feigned confusion at his curt words, which earned him a wince when Sherlock slammed on his way out. He glanced at the clock before taking a seat by his now unoccupied laptop to resume applications. Half past seven. It seems like Sherlock’s on his way to catch the 7.39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you if you're still reading this! I'll upload the next chapter soon :)   
> Tell me what you think so far?


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